


You're Still All Over Me Like A Wine Stained Dress I Can't Wear Anymore

by Erroneous



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, F/F, Future Fic, Hollstein - Freeform, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erroneous/pseuds/Erroneous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a good fifty years since Carmilla had held the cursed Blade of Hastur. Every time she hears feet padding down the corridor of the apartment building, she can't help but hope that somehow it was Laura Hollis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Still All Over Me Like A Wine Stained Dress I Can't Wear Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting my old work I wrote because I seem to have messed it up when I uploaded on public wifi so I'm gonna try this again!

It's been a good fifty years since Carmilla had held the cursed Blade of Hastur. Every time she hears feet padding down the corridor of the apartment building, she can't help but hope that somehow it was Laura Hollis.

Back when she could simply hold her as their warm breath mingled during cold, stormy nights. Laura never failed to calm her unbeating heart.

Now thunder ragingly clapped through the clouded morning sky. Instead of going out, she huddled in her apartment underneath the sheets. She held up a flashlight with shaking hands and a shuddered breath as she thumbed through another paperback novel as if it will actually calm her to sleep. No, she needed Laura to be here.

-

The brisk, autumn air wisps at her messily locks gently tucked behind her ear. New York busily hustled around her as people rushed to and fro with haste. Carmilla had no rush, gracefully strolling down the cracked sidewalk with her headphones blaring music that she and Laura used to cherish. Carmilla interlocks her fingers together, as if to simulate the comforting, warm feeling she got from the other girl's hand. It was never quite the same.

-

A pencil haphazardly traces over the tombstone, collecting the impression of the letters Carmilla long since remembered. It was the anniversary of Laura's death. Every year, she lit a candle and created a new etching in her sketchbook. Every year, Carmilla counted the pages. Today marks year 73. Before the Ginger twins, whose hair had now faded into a wintry grey, would sit together in the grass recalling memories of the fiery, young journalist. They laughed at Laura's dorky dance when her first story had been published in the local paper, her wide eyes when the New York Times had offered her a job position. Never was there an poor tale to be told of Mrs.Hollis-Karnstein. After all, you can't speak ill of the dead.

-

Waves crashed against the rocks of where Carmilla once sat when she'd obtained the blade. Here she sat, writing a letter to her deceased beloved. A pile of drafts and crumpled rewrites scatter the patch of grass next to her. 

Finally pleased, Carmilla nearly folds the parchment and places it next to the rest of her belongings lying folded neatly, for posterity's sake: a red flannel, some scuffed up leather boots, her signature leather pants and of course, the gold wedding band that's faithfully stayed on her finger for four hundred years.

Dear Laura,

I know you're probably watching me up there, with your usual disapproval of what I'm about to do. I can't simply live with just the memory of you. I worry that they might fade away, just as I have watched our friends, and you. I sometimes forget your voice, and I rewatch those silly videos you'd made all those years ago. When we still lived in that cramped dorm back in Silas. I sold that little house we'd bought up in the mountains of Styria, for any occasionally lost university students needing to run from their own evil, sacrifice-eating monsters and somehow ended up in the mountains. Our little loft in New York still remains untouched and as clean as I could keep it, I know how you hated the mess. I've long since called it home. As I need to go back to where I feel at home, after all. So now, I must come back to you.

Forever Yours,

Mrs. Karnstein-Hollis.

Carmilla tethered off the edge for only moment, the sun was beginning to rise and she'd already begun to feel its unholy singe across her pale flesh.

After all these years of selfishly trying to save her own hide, Carmilla never thought she'd go down without a fight. 

"See you soon, cupcake."

With a twist of her heel, she fell of the edge.


End file.
